


The Days Before Tomorrow

by Starling142



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: BAMFs, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-01 17:12:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11490915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starling142/pseuds/Starling142
Summary: When a new Governor comes to Wentworth after the fire, all isn't what it seems. Old friendships, new alliances and revenge. Freakytits and OC/OC main relationships, Bea/Will here and there (nothing crazy).





	1. Through the Smoke

_‘Keep calm. Just breathe.’_

   Small hands shook as the keys they held danced the rim of the lock before finally sliding in and clicking open. She had no recollection of driving home, could recall nothing since she had walked out of Joan’s off-…. The Governor’s office.

   No one owned that space now.

 _‘Would the room miss it’s latest resident?’_ Vera Bennet, Deputy Governor of the Wentworth Correctional Facility kicked off the shining black shoes, saw one of them scuff as it bounced off the wall and flipped before landing on the tiled entryway. She would have to shine those in the morning. Blinking back tears, Vera thumped back onto the door and slid to the floor. She didn’t feel the sting of the salty tears burn on her cheeks until she had pulled her small, stocking clad legs, up to her chest. The stiff fabric smelt of smoke, blood and ruin.

   She could picture it clearly in her mind, the way it must be right now in this moment. Miles away, nearly across the city, confined within the blocked walls of teal and soulless stone, past the cheap carpet of the officer’s department and nestled behind cool glass.

   The Governor’s Office.

   Vera could see the blinds, mostly drawn shut to keep out the orange glow of the oppressive prison exterior lights. The neat and meticulous desk, the soldier like line of pencils behind the smartly printed business cards. The imposing office chair that sat in front of the looming crown like a throne before it’s coat of arms. Now it would all be hidden within inky shadows, whispers creeping under the door and left to wither within it’s dark unforgiving grasp. She briefly wondered what would become of the vodka she knew to be in the small freezer compartment of the personal fridge.

_‘Perhaps I should bring it home.’_

   The thought nearly undid what little she had left of her composure.

   Vera was unsure of how long she had been there, curled up into herself against the hard grains of the door when her phone rang. Sniffling and wiping her nose briefly with the back of one hand, she used the other to fumble in the clear bag for her phone. It’s light illuminated the dark hallway, making her sore eyes hurt as she squinted to read the name. 

**_DEREK CHANNING_ **

   She quickly swiped to accept the call, clearing her throat as she did so.

   “Mr. Channing, what can I do for you?” Vera cringed at the scratchiness of her voice.

   “Vera, listen, I’m sorry to be calling so late…“

   “Not at all.”

   “Ah, well I’m calling to discuss what needs to be done tomorrow. We’ll need you to step up to the plate, Vera. But don’t worry, you’ll have the full backing of the Board behind you as we navigate this landmine _Joan_ has placed in front of us.” She flinched at the unveiled disgust with which he spat the woman’s name.

   “Of course, you know that my staff and I wil—“

   “Yes, yes. And of course it will only be for a short period of time as we vet out a new Governor.”

   Vera felt the blood in her veins turn to ice.

   “What do you mean? Why are you looking for a new Governor? As Deputy Governor I should be at the top of the list for her replacement, hence the title Deputy. Is this due to the unusual nature of the situation Jo-…Wentworth now finds itself?” She couldn’t bare to say _her_ name out loud to this man.

   “Vera, the next few weeks and months are going to be the most turbulent we’ve faced since the riot that lead to the death of Meg Jackson. And the board does not feel that you are up to the task of handling the blood bath that the press will be unleashing.”

   “They’ve already met?”

   “Of course they have.” his voice was low and soft as if explaining something to a particularly slow child. “We need to move fast on this Vera. And if you’re not willing to be in the boat with us….” The threat hung heavy over the line and Vera was too tired and emotionally compromised to even contemplate arguing for herself.

   “You have my full cooperation, Mr. Channing.”

   “That’s what I was hoping to hear, Vera.” She hated that he called her by her first name. Lamented the day she had given him permission in the hopes that he would return the gesture. Of course the lecherous man hadn’t and she could still picture his smug smile, those rows of tiny little teeth. “That’s all I needed to hear from you Vera. I’ll let you get back to sleep then.”

   “Thank you Mr. Channing.”

   The man had hung up before she had even finished her response.

   “Asshole.” She whispered vehemently to her phone before she flung it down the hallway. She watched it clatter and slid across the tiles, a delicate crack could be heard and she let out a tired cry.

   Drawing herself up, she placed a hand on her back and stretched a spasming muscle before she thumped down the hall towards the phone and picked it up. The screen had a crack that ran from the top of it down through the centre where is spidered off to tiny fissures and pulverised glass pieces.

   “Goddamnit.” She felt the tears prickle behind her eyes again and bit down on the feeling. She needed to shower the grime and smell off of her and slip into bed for what she hoped would be dreamless sleep for a few short hours before facing the dawn of the new day.

   Vera went through the motions, slipping out of the uniform, placing the soiled articles into the bin, turning the shower on and leaned her head up so that her face was immersed in the cool spray of the water.

_“I trust you, Vera.”_

   Her tears didn’t hurt as much with the fresh water washing them away as quickly as the fell.

_“We’re a team, you and I.”_

   Shampoo, conditioner, soap…she paid it all no mind. Could see herself doing it all as if from far away.

_The slap had felt hot on her face for hours afterwards_

   The towel was soft before slipping into her cotton underwear and pants, the gray t-shirt was old and threadbare in several spots. The only memento she had purchased on her first, and only, holiday she had gone on. Vera had flown to Rottnest Island, off the coast of Perth. The long weekend had been filled with walking the sandy beaches and cooing at the Quokkas that dominated the island. The shirt was a drawn picture of the animated smiling face of the small animal, she had loved it upon first sight and had even flown home in it. Now it was Vera’s favourite comfort shirt to wear around the house.

_“Last night never happened.”_

   Climbing into bed she stared up at the dark ceiling, the sound of the sirens blared loudly in her head, she could see the smoke funnelling out from the broken windows of the prison. Could remember the feeling of her heart caught in her throat, not from the acidic air but from the paralysing fear of uncertainty. And then, what seemed like an eternity of time later, her eyes caught sight of Joan. Her blackened figure had been scanning over the large standing of people, mentally cataloguing everyone she saw as the officers led her away. Despite her usual mask of indifference, Vera could see the change in those dark eyes when they met with her own.

_“I care about you, Vera….”_

   Sleep was a long time coming for Vera Bennet.

 


	2. From the ashes

   Two firetrucks were still on scene when Vera pulled up to Wentworth the next morning. She saw some of the fire people walking about the smouldering building remains, one of them offered her a small wave as he walked out of the burnt out doorframe. She smiled and offered a raised hand in return. Leaning against a tyre on one of the large red and white vehicles was another man, his eyes were closed and appeared to be sleeping. His face was smudged with ash and smoke but he seemed peaceful. She hoped he was getting more sleep than she had gotten.

_‘Perhaps I ought to order them coffees or something…would be the nice thing to do. I know that I could go for some after last night.’_

   Vera had tossed and turned for over an hour. Fed up with the creaking of the old bed springs she had gotten up and scrubbed the bathroom, going so far as to use her mother’s old toothbrush to get up into the crevices behind the toilet. Joan would have grinned at that she’d thought at the time, which had led her to scrubbing away at the grime harder with each stroke. When the thin plastic neck broke she’d thrown it away before settling in to scouring the glass of the shower. Still buzzing with adrenaline and heavy heart, Vera had moved onto the kitchen as the sun had started to rise. Her fingers were still raw from the hot water she had used when she’d attacked the dishes she had left piled in the sink from the past two days.

   Downing two cups of coffee and nibbling on a piece of toast with jam was all Vera wanted for breakfast before stepping into the cleaned shower and removed the smells of disinfectants from her skin. A light brush of makeup hid her slightly dark eyes. Her curly hair was not placed into the bun that had become so familiar, instead she set her hair into a french plait, tucking the end into the base of the hairline with a few pins. She found it was professional and yet was not reminiscent of a certain ex-Governor.

   “Vera, you’re here earlier than I expected.”

   Linda Miles, Vera had once considered the tall blond to be a friend. But now, in her post-Joan view of the world, she couldn’t help but see the liability of the woman with her gambling habits and propensity for drinking. Vera knew of course that Joan had been slowly poisoning her against the rest of the staff, conditioning her into seeing dark motives behind every action. She knew the striking woman had been using her for information and hadn’t cared about the ramifications that may have befallen her loyal Deputy. She had been used and she knew it. Perhaps by now they all knew it.

   “Morning, Linda. Couldn’t sleep after the shit storm from last night. Anyone else in early?”

   Linda at one point may have gone out of her way to help Vera, but their relationship had been strained. Vera knew the fault was of her own making. Didn’t believe the blond woman cared much for her mousy friend any longer, and Vera couldn’t really blame her. They’d both been used. Used and discarded by Fletch and Joan…what did it matter any more? Here the two of them stood, surviving, whilst the other two were each locked within their own exiles. Possibly never to be seen again.

   Perhaps the two still standing could fix this.

   “Just, Will. Said something about wanting to check the status of the inmates we’ve housed elsewhere.” The unsaid implication of him specifically looking into the well being of Bea Smith hung in the air between them.

   Vera merely hummed in response as she signed in for the day, her eyes sliding over the list before her, which is when she saw it. There, at the top of the page, in the feminine script she had come to recognise as well as her own was the name, Joan Ferguson.

   Her scalded finger ran over the letters lightly, feeling the dips and grooves from the pressure the woman had exerted when she had written her name.

   “Oh. Uh, sorry Vera. Didn’t realise I’d forgotten to flip to a new date. Too much going on I guess.” Linda seemed to blush slightly as she pulled the clipboard away from Vera’s probing fingers and pulled a new sheet out from the ledger book behind the desk.

   “Not a problem,” she quickly penned her name again on the new ledger. “Well, I should be getting on with my day.” Pushing an invisible strand behind her ear, Vera started walking away towards the metal detector down the hall. She turned to look over her shoulder for a moment.

   “Er, Linda?”

   “Yeah, what’s up?”

   “Once things get settled down around here, would you maybe want to grab a drink of something at the pub down the street?”

   “At Freddies?” The woman smiled genuinely, “sure Vera, I’m always up for a good pint.”

   “Right-o, sounds good. Well, have a good morning, Linda.”

   “You too, Vera.”

   Yes, the building might have burnt and their prison hierarchy may be teetering on the brink of collapse but maybe, just maybe, they could indeed fix all of this.

 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

 

   “Oi, Vera!”

   Will Jackson, the man she had helped almost bring to ruin, came jogging up the hallway towards her, smiling.

   “Morning, Will. Linda told me you were here a bit early yourself.” She kept her clipped pace towards the Officers wing, knew the man would follow her, knew he was watching her with those big kind eyes of his.

   “Just got off the phone with Walford, they said after most of our people had left that they didn’t have any problems with the ladies. Apparently Bea passed a mandate of sorts amongst the women to keep things in order,I’m hoping the next few weeks won’t be quite as hard as Walford was anticipating.” Vera suppressed a smirk at the man’s barely veiled attentiveness towards the red head. 

   “I knew about everyone being settled, I have most of the day staff over there to help them get them moved into the units and get them into the Walford routine. Apparently the women were less than enthused to see the conditions they would have to be slumming in for the next few weeks. Hopefully that’ll remind them to be grateful for their accommodations here…at least for a while anyway.”                                                                                                  “Ah, well makes sense really. Our poor pampered Queens having to live amongst the rabble.” He laughed lightly, “But seriously, Deputy Governor Gaynor was telling me that as it stands it seems we’ll be sending them a quarter of our staff until at least H-Block is finished? Is that right?”

   “I don’t know anything about that. I received an email before I got here from Channing. The Board was going to meet to discuss the finer lines of crossing inter-prison relations. I’m sure I’ll find out here shortly, I’m also assuming we’ll hear about the new Governor.”

   “Wh-,” he stopped in the middle of the hall. “Aren’t you acting Governor?”

   She glanced around and stood closer to him.

   “Apparently the board believes this situation is beyond my abilities to navigate.”

   “Beyond your abilities? What the hell are they talking about?”

   “I don’t know Will, apparently they’re vetting a new Governor.” She fiddled with her jacket cuff. “Honestly, I don’t even know if I’ll be remaining as Deputy. I’m assuming whomever they choose will have some choice in the matter.”

   “Jesus, I’m so sorry Vera. I just assu-“

   “Nah, yeah it’s all good. I’m sure whoever they pick will be top notch.” She smiled at him wearily. They both had been kicked in the heart by someone who had held the position. Had seen too much together to not feel weary of new blood coming in, again.

   “Well, it can’t get much worse can it?”

   She groaned.

   “You had better find some wood to knock on, I swear Will if you blighted us…I’m going to hit you.”

   “Since when have you been superstitious? And threatening to hit me?” He clutched his chest in mock shock, “and here I thought we were friends!”

   Vera’s eyes darted to meet the the warm brown eyes of the man in front of her. Were they still friends? After everything she had done, that Joan had done that she had turned a blind eye to? She took in his easy smile, his light laughter…yes. It seemed they were. Thank goodness.

   “Always.”

   She saw the change in his eyes, knew he understood what she was telling him.

   “Of course always. Someone has to make sure you do something fun at least once a month.”

   She rolled her eyes and playfully swatted his shoulder, “I’ll have you know I actually invited Linda out to Freddie’s sometime soon. You know, once this all dies down a bit.”

   “Well lookie-lookie, maybe Ms. Vera Bennet does have an adventurous side to her. Heading out with our resident barmaid? I think I’ll have to come just to make sure you ladies don’t end up going crazy.”

   “Oh, go back to work you horrid man!”

   He laughed as he walked down the hallway, “let me know when you find out anything.”

   “Will do!”

   Vera smiled as she resumed her walk towards the Officer’s wing. Even after the shit storm that Wentworth had faced yesterday she could still feel the resistance and fight the prison was putting up. It would survive and rise from the ashes. And so would her bruised and battered heart. It would take time, but Vera now had nothing but time. Joan had done everything in her power to break her, but Vera was still standing. If she could survive Joan Ferguson, she could survive anything. She straightened her shoulders and felt a wave of calm sweep over her.

_‘Now, back to that coffee….’_

 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

 

   “H-1 through 7 received the most water damage. Of course we have minor damage throughout the building from various water sources, but as of now they are not our main concern as it’s mostly superficial like replacing ceiling boards and such. We’ve completely lost the incinerator and the immediate surrounding areas, including part of the outer yard and garage. Parts of the western corridor took most of the burn but are still standing.” Charlotte Vern, treasurer of the Victoria Board of Corrections, adjusted the glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. “Now, we had already allocated the funds requested for the security upgrades, and if we dip into the emergency funds that are there for these exact reasons, we should be able to stay close to the estimated budget for Wentworth’s costs this year.”

   “Alright, thank you Charlotte.” John Freeman, President of the the Board shifted in his seat towards the pudgy man to his right. “Harold, what do your boys on the ground say?”

   “Well,” the thick man moved a grubby hand to pat the strands of hair he had greased over his bulbous head, a combover that seemed to mock rather than allude to the idea of hair.“It seems that we’ll need to let the heat from the bricks diminish. The fire chief told me they would have a small truck there round the clock to monitor so that it doesn’t light back up and start the blaze going again. But he suspects it shouldn’t take more than a day or two.”

   Harold Riemann, board member and long retired foreman had certainly bulged in his later years. A penchant for port and rich foods had robbed the man of his previous build and poor genetics had done the rest.

   “Once we can get a crew in to start the clean up we should be building within a week. Now I’ve spoken to Gregory Hicks, the contractor, and he believes that if we wanted to increase the size of the cell blocks, now would be the time. So I propose we get a new layout drawn up immediately so that we can ensure we stay on the budgeted target. I would also like to propose we increase the shop size so that in future should we need to add any additional areas to the prison that we could take from that space rather than having to add onto the outer building.” Harold glanced to the end of the table, “granted the new Governor approves of the increase of cell sizes to begin with of course.”

   All eyes shifted down the long conference table, perched within the leather bound chair sat the svelte form of Signy Hansson. With a coiffed bob haircut, the light blond hair made the hooded blue-grey eyes pop beneath long eyelashes, her painted red lips hinted at a smile.

   “Thank you, Harold.” A light Eastern European accent coloured her words, adding a taste of exotic distance to the tall woman. “I do believe that going on the dimensions of the current cell size most Australians are larger than the original inmates the prison once held.” If her eyes darted towards the rotund man at the other end of the table, they did not stay there long. “As it stands I believe that if nothing else it would be tremendous in gaining better standing in the eyes of the public if we showed true caring to our inmates.”

   “I agree, Ms. Hansson. If we are to s-“

   “It’s Mrs. Hansson-Dubois, Mr. Freeman.” Her voice was low and melodious, it’s casual tone eased any misgivings the retort may have inflicted. “My wife and I couldn’t decide who had to give up their last name…so we both just added one instead.” The table chuckled at her light-heartedness.

   “Of course, forgive me Mrs. Hansson-Dubois.”

   “Oh, nothing to forgive, and please I feel that we’ll all being seeing much more of each other…call me Signy.”

   “Then please call me John.” The President replied, suitably charmed.

   “Well then John, I’m glad we can see eye to eye. I’ll get the contact information from dear Harold over there and speak to the contractor about getting new plans drawn up immediately. Once those are approved I’ll set up a news conference and go over the new and exciting changes Wentworth will be seeing, both in her physical appearance and in her inner workings.”

   She stood from the table, smoothing the front of the black peplum dress as she went. “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time. Once again I thank you for offering me this prestigious position. I look forward to bringing Wentworth Prison into the modern age of Corrections.” She smiled beautifully as she made her way out of the board room on tall heels, hips swaying. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

   As the door closed behind her she heard the enthusiastic murmuring behind it.

 _’It was almost too easy,’_ she thought as she made her way toward the car park. _‘Now, off to see what Joanie’s gotten herself into this time.’_

 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still own nothing save for my beloved Matilde and Signy.  
> I am making no money from this, and I still do not  
> own a cabin in the woods surrounded by a pack of corgis.  
> Trust me you'd all know if I did.  
> Another thank you to Amy, who continues to listen to my rants and  
> crazy ideas. You're the best!
> 
> Please comment if you'd so like! Tell me what you think of  
> Wentworth's newest Governor.


	3. Evigt

   Joan Ferguson was dirty.

   The cheap asylum soap did nothing to help rid her skin and hair of the smell of smoke and blood. Instead, adding a layer of film to her skin that made her cringe. She could still sense the grime that had seeped into her traitorous pores and had lodged itself onto tiny hair follicles that lined her body. Joan had long since finished picking beneath her short nails, scraping away until she could feel her skin wanting to tear. Being unable to stand the thought of her blood coagulating beneath the nail bed, and knowing she’d be unable to clean the small wounds properly, she’d given up her plight.

   And so Joan sat.

   Sat in a silence she had never known.

   Trapped within the stifling stillness of this tiny room, she was truly alone for the first time in ages. Gone was the voice of her father, her constant companion on her crusade towards the Greater Good. As were Jianna’s heart wrenching wails, Vera’s quavering voice, the soul stirring movements of Chopin and Mozart…they all seemed to beckon to her like a far off light on a foggy day. She knew they were there, but just out of sight as she attempted to navigate through her slowed mind. Now all she could hear was her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, the steady staccato her the only indication that time was moving forward.

   When she had been brought in she had lost her composure. Had been like an animal caught between memories ofShayne being torn from Jianna’s arms and the acidic freshness of the fire and saving baby Joshua. Flashbacks of her lover’s body dangling over the staircase, Vera’s anger and pushing Joan away, the women and their anger and hate. The disgusting people who worked at Wentworth, Channing and the conniving board of puppets, Will and his continued existence after everything he had done. Bea Smith and Francesca Doyle, children trying to play with the adults. Her mother singing to her in Russian and her father telling her they were moving mere days after her mother’s funeral from the tiny island that had been her only known home.

   Too much, it had been too much.

   Memories blending together feelings and emotions that she had been pushing down and keeping hidden for so many years had bubbled up and out of her. The bruises that were smattered across her pale flesh were testament to her fight and subsequent loss to the large male orderlies. The tiny pinprick on her shoulder was the only physical sign of the drugs they had pumped through her body.

   Drugged into a slight haze, she had been bundled into a padded room with only a light in the ceiling. Time seemed wrong in this blinding white, she felt as if she’d been encased in gelatine and watching herself from far away as she struggled to get out of the oppressive weight of it all. Time had no meaning for her in that place, lost between the worlds of bright white and weightless black she knew nothing but endless silence.

_“Let’s get her showered.”_

   And then it had been noise, and moving from room to room. Being stripped and wanting to fight the probing hands and the harsh soap but being too tired and her limbs felt too heavy. The towels had to rough and the cotton made her skin itch as the nurses wiped the water from her skin and combed her thick hair. Joan could feel the slight stickiness of conditioner still stuck within the long strands, these girls were trained in medical care and lacked common decency. But when she tried to speak her tongue seemed to move slower than even her mind. The nurses had tucked her into a bed too small for her tall frame, her long legs folded upwards to accommodate for the small space. She fell into the world of the drugged and dreamless sleep.

   When she woke, Joan had no way of knowing how much time had passed. Her bleary eyes hadn’t been open long when one of the large male orderlies came in to check on her. Struggling to get up she felt two clammy hands grip her and slowly bring her up. She shrugged him off enough to get him to release her.

   “Hello, Joan. How are you feeling?” He was a tall man ginger haired man with thin reedy arms and legs. She could crush him like a twig.

   “Where am I?” It seemed to take a long time to say.

   “Sinclair Medical Cent-“

   “A psychiatric hospital?” She spat the words, “how long have I been here?”

   “About thirteen days, but we moved you into your new room yesterday morning.” The lanky man’s voice was low and he spoke softly as if he didn’t want to spook an animal.

   “Thirt-“ her voice quavered. “Thirteen days?”

   “Yes ma’am. You were brought in late after the fire at Wentworth. We had to restrain you for a number of days as you posed a threat not only to others but yourself as well.” He seemed somewhat apologetic, it made Joan itch with annoyance.

   “I want to know what happened at Wentworth.”

   “Uh, I’m sorry ma’am, but I’ve been told I’m not allowed to discuss anything to do with Wentworth with you until the Police have questioned you.”

    She hummed in response.

   “But, there will be a visitor coming in later the afternoon from the prison. I’m not sure who, Doctor Foster said she was a friend of yours. So,” he sighed, “she’s been approved to speak with you and we’ll go from there. A bit unusual to be sure, but who am I to disagree?” He chuckled at his own joke.

_‘Vera perhaps? Would she call herself my friend?’_

    “So, let’s get you up and fed and then off to the showers. What do you say, eh Joan?”

    She merely nodded in response, head still feeling heavy from the medication flowing through her veins.

    “Alright then, I’ll be right back with some breakfast. Milk or juice?” 

    “Water.”

    “You got it.” He smiled and left, locking the door behind him.

 _‘Would Vera return to her side so soon? Or was this another ploy to bring her down?’_ For Joan, only time would tell. And as it stood…Joan had nothing but time.

 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

 

    “Mrs. Hansson-Dubois, how nice to put a lovely face with the voice.” The Doctor’s handshake was limp and inspired nothing but mild discomfort in the strong manicured hand of Signy.

   “Dr. Foster, a pleasure.” A bright white smile flashed between two plump red lips. The man flushed slightly.

   “I hope the drive wasn’t bad for you.”

   “No, I’m very familiar with the area.” She mentally rolled her eyes. “But I do have a very busy schedule. Running a prison and all.”

   “Ah, yes of course. If you’ll just follow me?”

   Her steps rang out across the linoleum as they traversed the long white hall. It’s walls were host to pictures of flowers and ocean scenes between the large picture windows that brought the hot sun in and glinted off cream coloured flooring. The entire thing made the already depressive building even more so in it’s desperate attempts at forced happiness and Signy found it rather distasteful. She was glad to leave the area when they slipped through warded doors.

   “She’s been up and about this morning,” Foster said. “Even showered herself.”

   “How nice.”

   “Yes, I’m hoping that on the medication she can work through her issues.”

_‘Issues? That’s one way to explain Joan.’_

   “Ah, Mr. Patterson, this is Mrs. Hansson-Dubois, Governor of Wentworth. She’s here to see Joan.”

   The man was tall and looked to barely be old enough to have a full time job. The tiny stubble on his face looked more like several days worth of proud growth rather than the pitiful look it was. That paired with his gangly form and red hair reminded Signy why she preferred women.

   “Mrs. Hansson-Dubois, it’s nice to meet you. I’m in charge of Joan’s care while she stays here with us.” He smiled balefully at her bright eyes. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to see a familiar face.”

_‘Well, let us hope.’_

   “Nice to meet you as well Mr. Patterson. Shall we?”

   Dr. Foster left them and Signy didn’t mind in the slightest, his presence would have been harder to get rid of than the young man before her.

    The hallway they walked down was different than the previous one. No pictures lined the walls and the windows were behind heavy mesh. The lights were dimmer and bounced off the walls bathing their skin an ashy grey and it was then that she noticed it was completely silent besides the soft hiss of air from a vent in the ceiling.

_‘No wonder everyone here stays crazy…’_

   He stopped at the second to last door in the hallway and slid a key into the lock.

   “She’s just in here. Would you like me to keep the door open? She’s been really calm so I don’t expect too much out of her.”

   “No thank you dear, I’ve known Joan for a long time. I’m sure I can handle her.”

   “Ok, well I’ll come back in about 10 minutes then if that’s ok? You can stay as long as 30 minutes, but she may not be quite up for that…” He seemed almost apologetic. No wonder he had to work with the heavily medicated. The real world would eat him alive.

   “Of course. Thank you.”

   The door was closed and locked behind her as she walked into the small room. Signy took in the slumped form sitting on the bed, the tall formidable woman she once looked up to so much had been reduced to this broken creature. Dark circles lay under the closed eyes, she looked exhausted. Joan’s face looked ashy, but she didn’t know if that was actually the case or just the horrible lighting. She hoped it was the latter.

   “ _Privet_ , Joanie-Pony.”

   Dark, bleary eyes shot open.

   “Siggy?!” The usually proud voice was rough from disuse.

   “In the flesh.” It took only a few small strides to reach the bed. “May I sit?”

   “Uh, of course.” Joan still looked incredulous at the sight of the blond woman. “And don’t call me that stupid name. It was one time.”

   “Oh Joanie,” pale hand reached out slowly to touch a cotton clad shoulder. “You know you love it.”

   “Signy, what on earth are you doing here of all places?”

   “Well, what kind of best friend would I be if I left you to rot in the shit hole?” Blue eyes bounced around the tiny room, taking in the bleakness of it all. “This is the second time I’ve been here. Did you know that? I came by a few days after you had been admitted. But you…you weren’t yourself.”

   “But how did y—“

   “Joan, we don’t have time. That tall Raggedy-Andy wannabe will be back any minute and we have to figure out our plan of attack.”

   Black eyes locked with blue and that’s when Signy was able to recognise the woman before her. The girl she had taught to put on makeup when they were 14, the girl who got Ingrid Slvetlan to dance with her in the basement on her 15th birthday, the broken young woman who cried on Signy’s pillow after her mother passed away and her father told her they were going to move. The woman she had given her virginity to when Joan came to Sweden to visit during their University years, the best friend who danced with her at her wedding to Matilde years later. 

   “There’s so much to tell you, and I don’t want you to get upset.”

   “Signy….”

   “I’m the new Governor at Wentworth.”

    The silence was deafening.

    “You took my job?”

    “Yes. But only because Matilde and I have been keeping tabs on you ever since you went off the deep end about Jianna.” At the sharp inhale from Joan, Signy ran a hand through her hair. “You know you did. I mean, you stopped calling as often, cancelled every vacation we tried to make…even years afterwards. You live for work and that’s it. We’re worried about you.” Signy grabbed the other pale hands tightly, “ _I’m_ worried about you.”

   “Siggy…”

   “I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m trying to tell you that I understand and forgive you. And that I’m here to help you.”  

   “By taking my job.”

   “By taking the job you lost and ensuring that you get out of prison.” She withdrew her hands. “Or did you want to spend the rest of your life in a jumpsuit? You and I both know your body type is not meant for workout uniforms with 90’s inspired cuffs.”

    The laugh that Joan gave was more of a wheeze of air, it sounded pained.

    “So, you said you have a plan.”

    “Ah, that I do my dearest Joanie-Pony. That I do.”

    Joan sighed.

 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

 

 

_“Joan,” the heavily accented voice rang out across the empty practice room._

_At seven years old Joan Ferguson was already starting to show the height she would become, the lanky young girl flipped a few loose hairs away from her sweaty face as she jogged towards her father and the girl with him._

_“Yes Father?” She stood at rigid attention, her head tilted up to meet the cold dark eyes she had inherited._

_“This is Signy Hansson. Her family just moved to the island and she will be taking fencing lessons here with me.” He clamped a large hand over the other girl’s small shoulder._

_“I want you to show her the proper footwork and introduce her to your teachers at school tomorrow.”_

_“Yes, sir.” Small black eyes still had not strayed from the large man before her._

_“Good girl. Now I must meet with General Petrov tonight, so I expect you to walk yourself home in time for dinner with your Mother.”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“Well then,_ prodolzhay _.”_

_It was only when her father had turned his back and walked out the door that Joan slid her gaze to the other girl. And she was caught in stare of the bluest eyes she had ever seen._

_“Hallo.” The girl stuck out a small dainty hand. “My name is Signy, I’m six and a half. How old are you?” Her voice was accented differently than Joan and her family, it struck Joan as odd as there weren’t many on the island that were not Japanese or Russian._

_“_ Privet _, I’m Joan. And I’m older than you, I’m seven and a half.”_

_She took the smaller girl’s hand in her own and smiled._

_“Want to be my best friend?”_

_The question confused Joan for a moment. None of the other kids at school wanted to be her friend. The Japanese children called her names she didn’t understand, but from their laughter and stares she knew they weren’t pleasant. The Russian children avoided her because of her father, he wasn’t nice to the children like the other fathers were, he believed children were small soldiers to be moulded. Life at the school had so far been disappointedly rather different than her Mother had promised her it would be._

_“Me?” At Signy’s insistent head nodding, Joan found herself nodding back slowly. “_ Da _?”_

 _“_ Åh bra _!” The smaller girl practically squealed in delight, making Joan jump as two skinny arms wrapped around her. “We are going to be best friends_ evigt _!”_

_Joan recovered quickly and slowly wrapped her arms around the blond girl. She couldn’t help the smile that broke out across her face. She had always wanted a friend and to now to actually have a best friend…it was everything Joan had been secretly hoping for. Maybe life would get better now that Signy was here._

 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not speak any other languages besides English, sarcasm and a family language. If I've butchered anything in here please let me know so I can rectify it!
> 
> prodolzhay- Continue  
> Privet- Hi  
> Da- Yes  
> Åh bra- Oh good  
> Evigt- Forever


	4. Pink Orchids

_Twelve days previously…._

 

   Vera Bennet did not like change.

   The call came in at a quarter to ten on Wednesday evening. At precisely 9:48pm, Vera came to understand that the world as Wentworth Correctional knew it would come to an end at 8 am the following morning. For as the sun rose and washed the red brick exterior in it’s morning brilliance, the halls of teal would be graced by it’s newest Governor.

   Channing hadn’t told her who the new Governor was, just to expect them at 8 am along with himself and the President of the Board, John Freeman. He wanted her there to take them through the prison and to then end up in the Governor’s office, which he expected to be free and clear of anything from _her._ Once they had ended the short call, if you could call the barrage of demands and expectations a conversation, Vera had sat on the corner of her bed in mild shock and slight nausea from nerves on the changes undoubtedly in store for her and her tiny slice of the world.

   Sleep was fast in coming but hard to keep a grasp on as the night wore on. Flashes of teal and black leather, anguished cries for help and tall unknown figures pulling at broad shoulder and black hair kept Vera tossing and turning in her sleep. It was around 3 am that she gave up and decided to get up for the day. She showered the slight sticky sweat from her tired body and threw her hair up into another french plait before she had properly dried it. She knew the curls would look horrible that night, but since no-one would see the disaster that would be brewing on her head, Vera couldn’t bring herself to care.

   She took her time and made sure to cover the growing dark circles beneath her eyes and even applied a bit of lipstick to finish the look.

_‘You look like a cheap tart.’_

   Rita Bennet had hated lipstick. She had believed that the only women who wore it were depraved and loose. The fact that her mousy, boring daughter wore it on occasion only seemed to give the woman more ammunition with which to berate Vera. Even months after her mother’s death, Vera was still hounded by the acidic voice spewing it’s verbal abuse both in her dreams and throughout her day like an angry voice in the back of her mind. Perhaps she deserved it after what she had done to her mother….

_“For the Greater Good, Vera.”_

   And perhaps it had been for the best. Perhaps she had, in a sense, helped her mother end her pitiful and painful life faster. Any other possibilities were unimaginable to the already mentally tired Vera.

   Regardless of what the ghosts of her past were telling her, Vera smacked her lips together and took in her visage in the mirror. Followed the lines of her body and the space it took up, the space that belonged solely unto Vera herself. Not her mother or Channing, the prisoners or even _Joan._ Vera Rose Bennet, at the age of 44 had come to terms with the fact that this was the lot she was given. Heartbreak, abuse and all.

   She sighed heavily.

   Well, it could be worse. She could be on the other side of the bars.

   Vera grabbed a box from a back corner in the garage, she looked down at the small collection of trashy romance novels she had collected over the years. She had hidden them away from the prying eyes of her mother, she had had enough trouble with school literature. And had Rita ever found out the slowly growing number of sapphic novellas that now littered the box….

   But now she didn’t quite know what to do with the colourful little books. Throwing them out seemed a waste of paper, but the thought of putting them in the living-room…allowing the burly men in kilts and torn shirts and the sultry, bedroom eyed women to line her bookshelf. Who knew what people would think if they saw them. The thought made her pause. Who would see? The only person who had graced the halls of the Bennet house in some time had been Joan. Now, no one came to her door unless she had ordered takeout, and she didn’t think the pimple faced teen who delivered her Chinese could see much past the long fringed bangs that covered his eyes anyway.

   “I’m going to put them up.” Grabbing the box, Vera strode back to into the house and quickly stacked the books next to the bookshelf. She’d do that later tonight, she had things she needed to see about this morning.

   She placed the newly emptied box in the passenger seat as she set off towards Wentworth.

 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

 

_It was day two of Vera’s bereavement leave, she had taken 10 days off in order to get the funeral and other arrangements in order. Rita Bennet may have been a cold woman who cared for little outside of her own comforts, but she had surprisingly been well prepared for her eventual departure. After a handful of phone calls to her mother’s lawyer and the funeral home it had been fairly easy to get everything squared away._

_The funeral had been a small affair. Her mother’s ashes had been placed in an urn that seemed too tiny to Vera to hold the remains of the woman who she had feared for so long. What hadn’t surprised her was the fact that she was the only one at the funeral. Her mother had long since burnt bridges of friends and any extended family she’d had over the years and no one besides Vera would be impacted by her death._

_It was only after the Priest took the ashes to be placed in the wall vault and she made to leave did the old funeral director shuffle his way over the dry-eyed woman to ask her if she was planning on taking the flowers or not. She blinked away her surprise, she’d thought them part of the chapel’s ascetic, and nodded._

_“Why don’t you bring your car round and I’ll have my son drop them to the front?”_

_The heady smell of the colourful blossoms blanketed the car as she made her way home. After placing them on the kitchen table she changed out from the black dress and into a comfortable pair of lounge clothes and made a cup of tea. Taking a sip from the steaming mug she plucked a card to read._

 

   Vera,

       Condolences on the loss of your mother. I imagine she was kind and sweet, much like yourself.Let me know if you need anything.

    Will

 

_She scoffed lightly, smiling nonetheless and grabbed another card, this one was a large leafed potted plant._

 

   V,

      Sorry for your loss. Let’s go grab a drink sometime and raise a glass to your mum. My treat.

Linda

 

_Vera could just imagine the type of toasts the blond would attempt to make for her mother, especially as the night wore on. Brown eyes rolled at the thought._

_The other two bouquets were similar, one from the office staff and the other from Bridget saying she was there if Vera wanted to talk. As she put Bridget's note down,_ _her eyes zeroed in on the pale pink orchid. A small, sealed, envelope was attached. She gently grabbed it, sliding a pale finger under the edge of the envelope._

 

   Vera,

      Do not mourn for the dead. Mourn for the living.

      I’m coming over tonight. 8pm.

      I’ll bring dinner. Have a pleasant white chilled.

 

_The card wasn’t signed but she knew only one person who would invite themselves round after a funeral. She glanced at the kitchen clock, it read quarter to seven. She knew her wine stock wouldn’t be to Joan’s standards and sighed. She got up from the table, leaving the cooling mug of tea as she went to slip into some jeans._

_It took about 20 minutes to pick out a decent wine and only mentally cringed at the price as the clerk rang her up._

_She put the bottle in the fridge and did a quick sweep of the kitchen, moving the flowers to settle around the house in various spots. Then pink orchid from Joan was placed on the table where it could be easily seen._

_Vera reapplied her light makeup and decided to leave her hair down when she saw the time. Throwing on a pair of dark wash jeans and a grey top, she slipped into her favourite pair of black ballerina flats just as the doorbell rang._

_“Hello Joan,” Vera smiled at the tall woman and beckoned her inside. “Anything else need to come in?”_

_“I have everything packed in here rather nicely.” Joan motioned towards the basket she had looped through her arm._

_They made their way towards the kitchen, Vera grabbed the wine from the fridge and moved to pour two glasses._

_“Actually, why don’t we leave that for dinner?” Joan’s voice cut through the quiet kitchen. “I brought a small bottle of wine my friend sent me. Her wife comes from France and her family owns a large vineyard there. She now has one of her own here and I get a few bottles every now and then. I’m particularly fond of this batch and I think you’ll like it.” She pulled a small dark bottle out from the basket and raised an eyebrow in question._

_“Oh, that sounds lovely.” Vera placed the chilled wine back in the fridge and handed Joan the corkscrew. “How long has she been here?”_

_“Oh, about 20 years or so.” She handed the small glass to Vera and held her own aloft. “To the living.”_

_Vera smiled tightly as they clinked their glasses together. She took a small sip of the dark wine, it’s aroma reminded her of currants and warm summer days, but it was the explosion of fruit on her tongue that made her moan slightly and close her eyes in bliss. When she opened her eyes she noticed Joan’s cheeks sported a small tinge of red._

_“I’m assuming you didn’t eat very much today.” The tall woman cleared her throat and began taking various ingredients from the basket._

_“Well, not really. I was just going to make a sandwich when I read your note actually.”_

_“Sandwiches may be good for a small lunch, but I always prefer a nice meal for dinner.” She gave Vera a close mouthed smile and she began dicing a succulent looking cucumber. “I was thinking chicken breast with a plum glaze, quinoa salad with a side of asparagus. I also brought some of those lemon tarts I know you’re fond of.”_

_“Lemon ta-….hang on, how do you know I like lemon tarts?” Vera gaped at Joan in confusion as the woman continued to mince the cucumber._

_“Twice a week you take your tea break and leave the compound on foot. The nearest cafe is that little bakery down on Verlaine Ave.” The cucumber was pushed to the side of the chopping board as she moved onto the red onion. “Now, despite being so tiny, you watch your weight quite religiously. And seeing as they have the calories labelled on the display plaques you would have undoubtedly looked for the better options.” Clever hands made quick work of mixing the vegetables with the pre-cooked quinoa._

_“Wait, did you follow me?”_

_“Follow you? Hardly.” Dark eyes rolled at the question. “Observation my dear, is all it takes. Oh, and do sit down, I won’t be needing your help.”_

_Vera looked skeptical as she sat at the nearby table._

_“Also, you have a faint smell of lemon on you those afternoons. And once you had a sprinkle of faerie sugar on your jacket lapel. Do you happen to have olive oil? I seem to have forgotten my bottle.”_

_The topic change was so quick Vera sat in dazed confusion for a moment._

_“Er, yeah. Cupboard to your left. Bottom shelf.”_

_She watched Joan scrunch up her nose a bit at the cheap bottle of olive oil. No doubt the woman used the expensive pressed brands direct from the best cities in Italy._

_The rest of the evening went along quite well. The dinner Joan made was delicious and Vera knew she’d never be able to replicate such a mouthwatering dish herself. The wine she purchased, luckily, paired very nicely with the meal and Joan had even made a small nod of approval which left a warm glow in Vera’s abdomen, happy to have spent the extra money on it._

_After dinner, Joan had insisted she clean up the small mess left back from the prep herself. She was very tidy as she cooked, unlike Vera herself, making short work of it. And so the petite brunette set about making them each a cup of tea to settle in with as the evening drew later._

_“Milk, no sugar.”_

_Vera merely hummed in response as she already knew how the older woman took her tea._

_Joan made slight face at the two heaping spoonfuls that went into Vera’s cup but to her credit, said nothing. She smiled as she picked up her cup and followed Vera._

_Vera sank into the soft cushions of the couch, Joan sat across from her on the love seat, her frame making it look slightly comical to the brunette, who may have had one too many glasses of wine with dinner. She felt warm and under Joan’s thoughtful gaze a sense of protection settled over her._

_“Thank you for coming over tonight, Joan.” Vera smiled at her, “I didn’t realise I would feel lonely tonight, but I think I would have if I had had to listen to this quiet house all evening.”_

_Joan did not reply. Instead she slipped her gaze to the old pictures sitting on the end table beside her. Slim fingers reached out and plucked a picture of a smiling young Vera. It looked like she was sitting on a beach towel, her hair damp and the freckles on her cheeks stood out on the tanned skin. She had a wide gaped smile and her eyes were alight with merriment._

_“That was the last vacation I went on with my father. He died the next year in a car accident. I was 9 at the time.”_

_“Just your father? Your mother didn’t accompany you as well?” She turned her dark eyes to the very grown up Vera that sat across from her now._

_“Mum? Never. She didn’t much like vacations. Would complain about the sun being too hot and the sand getting up into everything.” She sighed. “But it worked out better that way, to be honest. Daddy and I always had more fun when she wasn’t there.”_

_“You were close with your father?”_

_“I adored him. I take after him more than my mother actually, colouring wise and the like. But I got my mother’s height.”_

_Joan hummed in acknowledgement as she put the photo down and picked up another, this one showed Vera a few years younger holding a rather large and fluffy orange cat. The child seemed much more pleased with the unfolding events than the cat did._

_“Tiger.”_

_“What?” Dark eyes slid across the room._

_“My cat. His name was Tiger. Daddy got him for me after I had learned about wild cats in school. He’d taken me to the Sydney Zoo during a school holiday and bought me a small stuffed tiger, probably thinking it would help me through my big cat phase, but it did quite the opposite.” Vera gave a small giggle and smiled brightly. “Looking back I must have been quite the annoyance going on and on about them. About a week later he brought Tiger home and I fell in love. Mother hated him of course. Complained about the hair getting everywhere and one time he brought a dead mouse into the house.”_

_Vera’s face lost the smile and her shoulders slumped._

_“He disappeared one day about a year after Daddy died. I always hoped she’d just thrown him out of the house or taken him to the pound…but I’d always had a sense that she’d done more. Gave him rat poison or something. She was such a vindictive woman. I was never allowed to have a pet after that.”_

_She stared off into space for a time, worrying her bottom lip and running a finger around the rim of her tea. The chiming of the clock made her jump slightly and she looked at Joan with embarrassing discomfort._

_“Sorry, I don’t know why I told you all that.”_

_Joan made no indication of hearing Vera as she placed the photograph back in it’s spot._

_“My mother died when I was young as well. Did you know that, Vera?”_

_“I, uh, I didn’t.”_

_“Hm. I was 11 when she died from a rather horrible fight with pneumonia.” Joan’s voice softened slightly as she spoke. In the dimmed light of the lamps and the way the cup of tea wafted up made her look warmer to Vera._

_“Were you close?”_

_“Yes, actually. We were very close. I look quite a bit like her, but I got my height from my father’s side of the family. My grandfather was apparently 6’4” if you could imagine. My mother was so feminine and small.” A small smile graced her pale face. “I always wanted to be just like her. But I never looked quite right in the dresses she bought for me. So she started to make my clothing, I always felt pretty in those dresses. Soon afterwards women on the base were asking my mother to sew dresses for all of them. I was always very proud of my mother’s work.”_

_“Did she teach you to sew?” Vera inquired, taking a sip of her cooling drink._

_“She did, but I was never very good at it. She had a natural talent.” She smirked, “my talent was getting the thread stuck in the bobble somehow.”_

_Vera laughed gayly, making Joan chuckle along with her._

_“She soon learned it was a lost cause and so I would sit and read to her whilst she sewed. She loved the classics. Her favourite book was_ “Anna Karenina” _, I would read that over and over for her. I actually have her copy of it still.”_

_“Your mother sounds like an absolutely lovely woman. I wish my mother had been like that.”_

_In an instant, Joan’s voice changed, an icy, cutting tone._

_“What point is there in wishing, Vera? Why waste your time looking at what others have that you believe to be better than your own lot in life? Instead, focus on yourself and realise what_ you _have that others would pine for and seize it. Take the rest of it and do better, be better and make your side of the fence impenetrable to those who would rather your grass be dead.”_

_Vera watched Joan’s face change. No longer was it soft and open, but the face of the Governor. No nonsense and cold command._

_“Joan, please.” She sighed. “Not tonight. Not after I had to bury the mother that I in all technicality murdered.”_

_The tall woman narrowed her eyes at Vera for a moment, her nose flared and as she exhaled it was like a different woman was sitting there._

_“Of course, Vera. And you did not murder her. You put her out of her misery, would you have let an animal suffer on in severe pain? Of course you wouldn’t. So put it from your mind.”_

_“But, wh-“_

_“No ‘buts’. Now, tell me who sent you those flowers?” A long slim finger pointed to the white lilies that sat on the table beside the couch._

_“Ah, Will sent me those, the potted one by the door was from Linda. Thank you, by the way, for the lovely orchid. It’s beautiful.”_

_“Of course. Something for you to take care of and to watch grow.”_

_Vera smiled beatifically in response before draining her cup of tea._

_“Would you like another?” Vera placed her cup on the table in front of her._

_“I should get going actually. I’m working a double tomorrow.”_

_“Oh, I hope it’s not because of me. I can come in you know?”_

_“Think nothing of it. Take this time to get your life in order. Clean your house, get rid of the pointless nicknacks you don’t want.” She got up, picked up Vera’s cup and moved towards the kitchen._

_“It’s your house now, Vera. Make it yours.”_

_Vera glanced around the room, taking in the floral wallpaper and the dusty looking rose pink curtains. The cheap porcelain figurines and the hideous shag carpet. ‘Why not?’ she thought to herself as she followed her guest._

_“Thank you again, Joan. It means more than I can say that you came over.”_

_Joan picked up her basket and moved towards the front door._

_“Think nothing of it, I knew you wouldn’t be in the mood to cook. That’s what friends do.” She smiled at the smaller woman._

_Vera merely nodded and before she quite knew what she was doing reached up and pulled the usually stoic woman into a hug. It took Joan a moment to realise what was happening before she awkwardly brought her unladed arm up to gently pat the the younger woman on her back._

_“Ok, so you’re not very good at hugs. But I think we can work on that.” Vera said as she pulled away._

_“I do just fine in a hug. I just prefer to not have them happen.”_

_Vera rolled her eyes in mock exaggeration._

_“Yes, Joan. Whatever you say, Joan.”_

_Joan looked at Vera with a funny look on her face that the brunette couldn’t quite read. With a last parting smile the ex-pat Russian made for her car. Vera stood at her doorstep as Joan backed out of her driveway. She waved when Joan glanced back up at the door and smiled as she returned the wave and drove off into the dark night._

_As she closed the front door, making sure each and every lock was in place, she again took in the outdated paint and 70’s leaded mirror hanging on the wall. She hadn’t known anything in this house to change in the last few decades, and could picture herself growing up in this stinted house._

_‘Joan’s right. I’m going to get this house updated and make it mine.’_

_That night Vera fell asleep with her laptop open to various home renovation pages, her pen slipping from loose fingers, drawing a faint line through her growing list of necessary tools for the small things and numbers for several carpet and tile stores near by.For the first time in her life, Vera Bennet was finally allowed to live for herself._

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Wentworth. The only characters I own are Signy and Matilde. Everyone else I'm just using for my own happiness and filthy ideas.  
> Any mistakes are my own, I have the always amazing Amy helping me out, but I go back and change things after she fixes them. Thank you friend!  
> If I made any money doing this...would I really be here? No, I'd be sipping wine in a cabin in the woods somewhere with a pack of Corgis. As it stands, none of that is probably going to happen.  
> Long live Freakytits.  
> PS. I love you Pamela Rabe.


End file.
